She sells seashells by the seashore
by Mere-lisse
Summary: The ripping effect of reincarnation is undeniable, for better, or for worse. Medic!OC
1. Chapter 1

1.

 _/because someone decided that dying once just wasn't enough/_

* * *

 _It was dark._

 _A darkness so heavy it threatened to press its thumbs into my eye sockets and suffocate my airway. I didn't know if my eyes were open or closed. It was just my body and an endlessly growing dark space where no light could pierce through. At least it was quiet, I thought._

 _Then -_

 _A sparkle of a million and one pale caramel white grains. A ripple of breathtakingly cool and salty ocean water in rock pools. A flash of a small clump of tall palm trees ripe with juicy coconuts squeezed against each other as if seeking shade. The nurturing breath of warm sunlight on my face. Seagulls squawking as waves crashed onto the glittering shoreline. The scuttle of a stray crab._

 _I looked down at my feet. A mistake. Black tar had set my feet into stone, chaining me back. Tendrils of a viscous dark substance latched onto my legs. My eyes widened. Nonononono letmegoletmego I'mscared pleasenojustleavemealoneimtired-_

 _Then -_

 _The image of an ordinary girl wearing a pair of not so ordinary striped grey tights. Grey wasn't a good colour to wear that day, the grey skinned dead girl thought. She'd be a cool person to get to know if her grey eyes weren't so lifeless. She'd also be a cool person to get to know if she wasn't choking on her own blood at that moment. But most importantly, she'd be a cool person to get to know if her face didn't seem so horrifyingly similar to her own._

 _Car accidents are always a tragedy. No one thinks that they're going to be next. The jaywalkers think that they're above that. Drivers will slow down because they don't want to have their hands tainted with their blood. The stickler rule abiders think the law will save them. Drivers will follow the law and won't mow down a crossing filled with pedestrians._

 _But accidents happen._

 _Then -_

 _Then finally, there was light._

 _A piercing, fluorescent light. I covered my eyes tightly with my hands but the light still found its way to burn my eyes. My thoughts were ripped out of my mind, my body rigid and unyielding as I tried to gasp for air. Then, then I couldn't breathe. It was as if someone had just reached a hand through my chest cavities to squeeze my lungs. I felt myself tiring, yet my panic still bubbled to the surface and threatened to spill, my heartbeat thumping in my ears (wait, do the dead still have hearts?) so I did the only thing I thought reasonable, doubled over, my hands grasping at nothing as I screamed and screamed and screamed soundlessly into the void._

.

.

Then there was air.

.

.

I greedily gulped down lungfuls of crisp, clean air, sobbing hysterically. And you've always wondered why babies cried when they were born. Honestly, it was no wonder that they did. I desparately wanted to hold something, I was spiralling, my world spinning from my dramatic entrance. But my fingers were hardly more than small nubs. Bright shafts of light blinded my sight, my own cries bounced off the wooden floorboards and plaster walls, and the only thing that soothed me was the sudden feeling of a soft, heated towel being wrapped around me. It never did occur to me until much later on that I had just undergone one of the most humane, exquisite and pure experiences of birth. Not giving birth, and on second thought, not even birth.

But rebirth.

A soft shift in my positioning and I was transferred over to the warm embrace of a woman. Her tired arms pulled me into her chest as she pressed her lips gently against my forehead. I noticed that she had the most beautiful brown eyes. Her creased almond shaped eyes showed relief and love and just the subtlest trace of happy tears. I was so captivated I didn't notice that my cries had subsided. A large hand stroked the thinned mop of hair on my head. It was comforting and I felt safe. My eyes shifted to the man beside the bed. His other hand was wrapped around the woman, rubbing slow circles into her shoulder with his thumb.

" _Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Furukawa, it's a baby girl."_

* * *

I spend the next few days immersed in darkness.

I was sleepy, all the damned time. My energy reserves were diminished with the simple acts of eating, drinking, and going to the bathroom – I really had the energy reserves of an ant. My reactions to sound and touch were getting much better, but my sight was still significantly clouded, and everything around me was a blur, with distinct contrasts between bright lights and dark shadows.

But that was alright.

I spent my time lost in thoughts. With every ounce of strength a baby had, I gathered information. I listened, and pondered, and _dreamed_. I listened to the clink of dishes as my 'mother' washed them after dinner, the flips of pages as my 'father' read. Moving my pudgy fingers to the edge of the cot, I tried to pull myself upwards into a standing position. I didn't move. I strained, heaved and panted, but all I succeeded in doing was realise that my arm was probably composed of more fat than muscle. And so, I browsed through my memories bank, where the more I thought, the more I remembered the life I previously had.

I had grown up in a toxic family in the city of Sydney.

The city of nameless faces and faceless names.

A city so categorical yet so scattered. You could be completely surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the city, but you could feel so alone. A city of abundance, boom and growth but numbers of homeless people on the streets only increased exponentially. My parents were migrants and of Asian lineage, and like all good parents do, pushed me into the direction of their definition of success. They educated me, pushed me into doing extra-curriculars, involved me into music, art, tutoring.

The thing with pushing your children like that is that they start to look for avenues to escape to. I escaped into the world of animation and reality TV. I escaped into sitting in front of a mirror for hours, doing and redoing my makeup with no intention of going out. I escaped under the covers of my bed, where only a crack of light revealed that had my smartphone screen switched on – discussing the meaning of life with my likeminded peers. I escaped into books and literature. I escaped into the sin of gluttony, stuffing my face with crisps I bought on the way home from school with my left hand, and solving math equations with my right. And you wonder why other young adults disappear into their own world of drinking and drugs.

By the time I was 21, I was holding a Bachelor's degree and on my way to starting a job with one of the big four investment banking companies in Australia. I was successful and unhappy. With a life under scrutiny like that, it's hard to make your own decisions. I didn't know what I wanted to make of my life.

Before I could even get onto thinking about my future, it was ripped away from me.

Until now.

As the days and months passed, the memories became dimmer and duller. Think about the person you were 5 years ago, already fuzzy right? And then imagine yourself slipping away from your identity, piece by piece, fragment by fragment; gaps begin to form in your existential timeline, black blotches clouding your clarity, until what you previously knew as fact now becomes fiction.

As my mental clarity diminished, my sight incrementally improved. Black and grey blotches were now interesting objects and artefacts in my small field of vision. Every turn of my head, I was piecing this together, like trying to put together an endless jigsaw.

 _Click. Click. Click. Click._

Soon, the language in this world became my own. My renewed brain was absorbing information at an alarming rate. Everywhere I looked; the house was choking with life anew, a bumbling and fussy mother, a protective father, an aged piano, a small succulent pot plant dangling off a nail.

I came to realise that my given name was Elizabeth. This took some getting used to, and I almost never responded to being called. Perhaps, Mother and Father shortened it "Lily" for the sole reason that it was short, sharp and caught my attention. Aren't babies just so foolish? They blindly trust their two parents with no idea who they were. From an adult's eye, they could have been anyone -a pair of hardened criminals, the president and first lady of the United States, or just two warm, humble souls who loved their daughter unconditionally. I regarded my looming parents with a healthy dose of scepticism as Mother flicked water at Father's face after she finished washing the dishes.

Was it any wonder that I wanted to be indifferent to their care, their unconditional love?

At the age of one, small things became oddly familiar. It was hard to explain, I had never physically _been_ here, but I was aware of these synonymous sights. I had seen this place before. Definitely. I had seen it on a small screen, in another world, in the form of pixels.

In fact, a boy named Eren Yeager visited today. I prayed that it was just an inane coincidence.

But when Mother tied my small body to her back with thin cloths and linen, so that I was gurgling and lounging in her makeshift baby carrier, hand in hand with Father down the streets of Shiganshina District, with the colossal "Wall Maria" in the distance, I could deny it no more.

I had been reborn in the Shingeki-no-Kyojin universe.

The tolling of bells could be heard in the distance as the sun inked the sky a salmon colour, but above it all, a baby girl began to wail.

* * *

A/N: Revamped chapter 1. Have a very merry christmas everyone!


	2. Chapter 2

2.

 _/basement/_

* * *

It was the year 839.

There would be 6 more years until the fall of Wall Maria.

If there was anything I remembered about the show, it was the gruesome way in which the characters died that really got to me. Their bloodied half bitten corpses, their lifeless eyes, scattered limbs. To want to willingly follow that timeline was ridiculous, but I had something that no one else had, and that was the priceless knowledge of the future. I suppose it was a risk worth taking.

My four year old self sat on my Mother's lap as I watched her count the coins in the little satchel that she stitched together. It had a faded pink lily on it. She smiled her distinct smile and pinched my chubby cheeks lightly when she realised that there was more than enough money to place food on the table this week.

"Lily, want a treat?"

I looked up at her and nodded.

"Let's go!"

Mother helped me lace up my tiny leather boots and pulled me too my feet. I pushed off the ground with my chubby hands and wobbled. Mother caught me swiftly and righted me.

 _Whoops_. Still wasn't too steady on my feet.

My small hands grasped her index finger as she strolled slowly through the markets of Shiganshina. I really loved going outside. The dirt paths and small stalls reminded me of a raw, genuine community. And of course, the 50m wall humbled me. The last time I tried to catch a glimpse of the top of the wall, I'd ended up with my bottom on the dirt floor, because I couldn't tilt my head far back enough to grasp its true enormity. Mother had frantically pulled me to my feet and dusted off my baby clothes, but Father clutched his belly and laughed and smiled at my clumsiness.

I felt Mother pull me close to her billowing skirt when a gang of teenagers ran by. These street kids roamed the streets all day, causing a ruckus – plucking apples out of loosely guarded stalls, giving tilted beer mugs an extra push, so that it spilled beer down the shirts of wealthy-looking businessmen. Carefree laughter of the teens and hurled insults of their victims mingled and echoed through the streets. They came out of their houses in the morning, wearing clean, ironed and lavender scented clothes, and returned to their homes at night with ripped shorts, torn tshirts, dragged in through the front door by angry looking mums with their hardened hands pinching their sons' ears.

I suppose that this was the result of not having a school to attend. This was one of the things I had noticed in the Shingeki-no-Kyojin universe. It lacked teachers, scholars, academics, education. But I could also see how there was no need for it.

Its short 100 year history was passed down by word of mouth alone, and skills like trade were shown to children by their parents. Simple skills like blacksmithing, farming, shoe-making, pottery had unique family quirks. Mother knew that the Johnson family made their apple pies with dusted sugar and not granulated sugar – just how she liked it, and frequented their store often. Father liked the way the Takahashi family shined his leather boots, for cheap. It was no wonder they were the most popular leather-oiling business running within the Shiganshina town.

We stopped by my favourite sweets store. Mother says that the moment she saw that I couldn't manage to control my drool – _darn these weak and gullible baby face muscles_ – and saw that my eyes had widened to the size of mini saucers, my favourite sweets store had been determined.

My small hands left prints on the glistening glass panes. I looked at all of the cakes and toffees and candies on display. I was in child heaven.

There were the rock cakes – which made up for its lesser than average taste with its quantity, the strawberry filled mini puff pastries – which were best appreciated in one bite, but I had to savour the taste by taking smaller bites, the cheese tarts – a beautiful mix of sweet and savoury, Father claimed that he saw my eyes watering when I had first tried these, the egg pudding – oh, so smooth, the toffee bites – oh, so creamy and so much more. I was at a loss.

Deciding to be a bit braver than usual, I pointed my finger at the pistachio cookies.

"I want to try those today." I tucked my hand behind my back and looked up at Mother. She moved her hand to her mouth and laughed.

"Three of those please!" Mother relayed my order to the shopkeeper.

The beautiful unclouded sky was orange by the time we got back home. I loved everything about our little cottage. It was small, compact, and surrounded by hand-made wooden fences. Our two goats bleated and our three hens crowed softly upon our arrival. They provided us our breakfast every morning. Occasionally, mother would put in the effort to make goat's cheese as an addition to our dinner. It was a lovely break from my typical urban setting.

Other days, Mother worked hard at home knitting pieces of clothing to donate and sell, and Father worked as a farmer in his little plot a few yards away. He grew beans, chilli, spinach, corn, carrots. When peach pits were first introduced to our small village, Father gave away a large portion of his fortune to become one of the first to get his hands on a peach pit. Our little family took turns feeding, nurturing and watering the little peach tree. It grew into a lofty tree in our backyard and produced Shiganshina's finest peaches. Everything was organic here, and Father's crops were up there with the other farmers. We were oft blessed to eat the vegetables and fruits that he grew, which Mother cooked to a golden perfection.

We were such a humble family. I never wanted to take this for granted. The food on my table, mostly provided by the labour of my Father's hands, the clothes on my back, the result of my Mother's nifty fingers.

Originally I had been indifferent to my parent's gestures, but over the four years, I had gotten used to their nurturing personalities. They really wanted the best for me and meant me no harm. I reassured myself that it was normal to have been suspicious, but as time passed I just couldn't find it in me to love them back. Something so tangibly raw pulled at my heartstrings whenever I thought of the remains of my past life.

Despite not having the need to have books, I considered myself lucky to have been brought up in this household. Father still liked to read and so, books lined the oak bookshelves, and as soon as I could recognise characters I began to read. With hours and hours to spare each day, I flipped through the pages of books to realign my past knowledge to what was here. There were books on mythology, recipe books, the world's short history, a map of the world, medicinal books, blacksmithing, farming, you name it. These books were often just loose handwritten notes tied together with thin strips of bamboo. I spent every spare moment of my time poring over these prized books. Life was finally getting a little more interesting than lying in my cot, unable to move.

Mother and Father didn't question my thirst for knowledge, or my fast learning abilities, such as how I could have possibly started to comprehend numbers, currency, lotions, and medicines in a heartbeat. To them, I was their perfect little angel. I tried my best to stall the learning process, but boredom often got to the better of me. When Grisha Yeager visited individual houses for our half yearly medical check-ups, he often dragged little Eren along. I admit I treated Eren like less of a friend, and more of a tool to measure my age appropriate intellect.

Eren starts gurgling and saying random words out loud? I had better do the same.

Eren starts stringing together barely perceptible sentences? I had better do the same.

Eren starts walking and crawling? I had better do the same.

But I hadn't seen him of late. He was also four years of age, and Carla had taken it upon herself to home school him and have him do some chores because she thought it was a better use of his time – they were now up to counting and numbers. I had better start blurting out some numerical nonsense now. Being a kid was seriously harder than I thought it would be.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

Father was home. I ran to the door and stopped abruptly. Oh, _right_ , I was still too short to reach the door knob. Bad habits, I laughed it off in my mind. Mother ran up to the door and opened it for me.

"Welcome home", she smiled, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. _Boy_ , having grown up in a family where affection was rarely shown, I felt so uncomfortably awkward I just had to avert my eyes.

"How's my baby girl doing today?"

I looked down at my leather boots and nodded. "Good, I think. We brought some cookies for you."

Father blinked, and his eyes widened at my response. "For me?"

I nodded solemnly. I took out the pistachio cookies and put it in his palm. "I hope you like pistachio, Dad."

"Oh Lily, you know I love anything you give me."

He walked over to pick me up, laughing and swinging me around, calloused hands making me feel so safe. Though, that was largely a process of trial and error. The first time he had tried to swing me around; I involuntarily started to wail at the strange, bottomless feeling of falling. I ended up a sputtering mess on the floor as Father dropped me lightly on the floor, leaving Mother to scold him and soothe me as he sheepishly scratched his head.

And without drama, the days passed.

* * *

It was about this time when I encountered my first mirror. It was up on mother's bathroom bench, a small circular shape fitted into a metal stand with ancient markings etched into its frame. I couldn't take my eyes off the face staring back at me.

I had messy brown hair – it had always been black before. I had hazelnut brown eyes. I had pudgy cheeks. My forehead was lower than I remembered it to be. My nose was barely a nub protruding from my face. I had long eyelashes – though I remembered that babies typically had quite long ones, lucky – they really had no idea how expensive it was back in my world. I twirled my hair between my fingers and admired the way the light and dark shadows worked wonders on it like never before.

I could really get used to this.

And then I learned how to write, and began to scrawl dates, timelines, graphs which were destroyed with water immediately after they were created to hide my knowledge. I tried to connect the dots, remember the main events of this timeline, the destruction of Wall Maria, the battle of Trost, the emergence of the Female Titan.

I kept thinking.

If I put myself at the forefront of the action, I could potentially change the plot of the story, and that in itself was dangerous, veering off a known storyline would put the knowledge I have to waste. Also, I could die. If I lived as a civilian, I would not gain the survival skills that soldiers had, and the story would continue on as usual. In that case, how could I save lives? Prevent disasters? Create change? There was absolutely no guarantee for survival, whether I was a mere civilian or a soldier. I thought and thought, but to no avail.

* * *

By the age of 6, I was really starting to get used to the world around me. And to be honest, apart from the looming wall in front of me, nothing else was too far from what I was used to. Perhaps, except that I never have a cell-phone with me all the time. Mother was introducing me to new chores, duties, and having me run small errands. I ran around, dropping off grocery bags at the Yeager's place, the Johnson's family, swept the floor until it glistened, washing baskets and baskets of fruit, watched Father make nutritious batches of fertiliser for his crops.

One afternoon, Grisha Yeager stopped by our home. He poked and prodded at my cheeks, had me open my mouth wide so that he could check that my molars were growing right. I had been complaining about tooth pain the other day.

"Are you brushing your teeth twice a day, Lily?"

His accusatory tone in which he asked his question sounded so similar to the dentists in my own world it had me nearly rolling my eyes.

After my check-up, Grisha pulled out a jar of teeth sensitive "toothpaste" and a few apple tree twigs for me to chew to maintain teeth health. He also pulled out a couple of bars of soap that he had started producing a few months ago, and lotions and creams for Mother's newly developed rash and Father's bug bites. My face contorted into a series of strange expressions as I chewed on the tough apple twig. Apparently, it helped clean my teeth when I wasn't brushing it. Kind of like how I used to give my pet dog a bone to chew on to maintain its oral health.

Ancient medicine was weird, but it sparked a little something in my mind. Imagine the impact on this world, the life within these walls, if there a healer, a medic who could save lives on the battlefield. Imagine someone who could preserve severed arms and reattach them, give soldiers another chance at living their lives after they've retired from the military. The only one I had really remembered in the anime was Grisha, everyone else just had a brief understanding of first aid. Did the anime really think that wrapping a bandage around someone's head would prevent a concussion? Ancient medicine was indeed weird, but I was keen to learn it.

"Dr. Yaeger," my own words surprising me out of my heavy cloud of thoughts, "Do you know where I can learn to make things like this?" I poked at the jars filled to the brim with lotion.

"You want to learn?" He looked at me curiously.

"Well, I think it's really fascinating and I want to help people like you help Mum and Dad and I." I looked up at him as earnestly as my doe eyes could. "And I can't find much in these books." I rambled on.

He rolled my proposition in his mind for a moment and nodded slowly at my words. "I can't refuse a keen learner. Meet me in my house tomorrow after breakfast, I'll let your parents know."

I sat up in the chair he was examining my teeth in, face lit up with joy. He chuckled at my reaction. The great taking on an apprentice? Unbelievable! I could barely comprehend how easy it was.

Mother and Father were all for the idea. Whilst they did want me out of the house doing more things, instead of being locked up in my room flicking through the tattered pages of books, they didn't want me running rampant around town, stealing apples and creating a ruckus. This was the perfect opportunity.

* * *

The very next day, Grisha introduced me to his home, which was his primary workstation. Jars of cream, dried leaves, stems, roots, hearts and livers of animals were lined up across his shelves, each labelled accordingly. It looked like a scene straight out of a gaming warehouse, or that of a mad scientist.

"Our sleeping quarters are up there,"Grisha gestured as Eren perched on the stairs, mostly hidden from sight. I turned around and waved at him shyly when I felt his eyes following me. He didn't wave back.

"My workstation is right here, you're welcome to enter and get what you need any time." Grisha continued to take me around his house.

"Bathroom is here, kitchen there; living room is around the corner." He pointed and made sure I nodded along to what he was saying. But I was barely listening by the time he had moved out of the living room.

"What's down there?" I asked, and pointing at a grubby staircase leading downstairs to the basement. It was old and looked unused, where mould was creeping along the edges of the wooden staircase. My heart was thumping wildly in my chest. This was _the_ basement, wasn't it?

Grisha didn't hesitate to reply.

"That's out of bounds."

* * *

A/N: revamped chapter 2. constructive criticism very welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

3.

 _/right place at the right time_

 _or not?/_

* * *

It was about this time when I really started to engage with my life. I realised that the person I had been born into had an aptitude for learning, an inquisitive mind and a fascination I had never previously possessed. I wasn't as disheartened as I expected myself to be when I found that Grisha wasn't cheating time and knowledge with information he had learned from the outside world. He produced these medicines from scratch, with medicinal herbs and plants lined up in neat rows in his little backyard-made-greenhouse.

We adopted an easy going mentor-apprentice relationship, where Grisha did the speaking, the demonstrating, and I listened and copied his actions. Every now and then I asked questions to clarify my understanding, but nothing really more than that. He wasn't the talkative type, but then again, neither was I.

Because he and I had something in common.

We both had our secrets.

I didn't know his, and he didn't know mine. And that was fine by me – for now.

I began to acquaint myself with the herbs first – Grisha said they weren't as intimidating to start with compared to the animal organs and insects, to which I wholeheartedly agreed. My stomach shifted uncomfortably at the thought of disembowelling an animal or snuffing the life out of a small worm for the sake of another creature.

There were the dandelions, ginger, thistles and peppermint to aid digestion. I wasn't at all surprised that these were the first herbs I was introduced to. From memory, most of the characters ate meat and meat gruel and more meat or a hunk of bread washed down by a glass of cold water, despite the countless fruit and vegetable stalls. Grisha taught me how to grind up the leaves and flowers in a good ol' mortar and pestle, and then left them out in the sun to dry before refilling dangerously empty jars. Most patients like to drink it with a cup of warm water after dinner, he said.

Then there was kava roots, lemon balm, tea leaves, lavender, camomile to remedy stress and anxiety. I wasn't surprised at this one either. Living confined within walls wasn't exactly a stress-free lifestyle, though it wasn't bad either, the worst case scenario just got to some people.

And then came the anti-inflammatory plants – green tea, turmeric, certain tree barks, rosemary, even black pepper. The more I was learning from Grisha, the more I was convinced that my old college kitchen was just a giant first aid room.

Stray, unwanted weeds were unearthed, and budding seedlings were moved into pots, gardens were watered, and scratchy leaves were collected and crushed. Particularly sensitive and difficult plants were sometimes brought inside and taken care of. Pests were physically removed with gloves on my hands. The jumping pests were the worst. Sometimes, Eren would come to help, but he never stayed long enough. Instead, he succumbed to sheer boredom and went off to find Armin to play with, and dream with.

And all of a sudden I was 9, finding it all very fascinating, until we started to gut toads.

My face scrunched in dissatisfaction as I watched Grisha handle his knife and behead the squirming toad. As he started to scoop the toad's guts out, falling in bloody goops and blobs onto the counter, the toad continue to twitch involuntary.

He laughed at my pinched face. "That was me when I started doing this, you'll get used to it."

I nodded. "How are you so sure that this will help with asthma and common colds anyways?"

He grunted as he tugged at a particularly stubborn part of the toad's intestines. "Seen it work, and it really works wonders."

The intestines came undone and he made a grab for the next toad in the bucket. He wiped the sweat from his brows and piped up again, "It's the patient's preference really, parsley leaves and ginger work just as well in my opinion."

I nodded at that, almost in relief. "I think I'll be sticking to the latter two, I really can't see myself doing- " Grisha pulled the escaping toad back to the bloodied counter of his previous victim and violently slammed his butchers knife down. "That." I said conclusively.

"Don't worry yourself too much, that's what I said too."

"To whom?"

He seemed suddenly engrossed in his task of gutting frogs. Was he ignoring me? I frowned. He didn't seem particularly fazed at his slip up, just kept his head down and worked at the frog, leaving my question hanging in the air. I suppose Grisha wasn't too worried about his secret being uncovered, or at least he didn't show it. I mean, who on earth would believe him?

And just as fast as the tension cloaked the room, it dissipated as we fell back into small talk. My face was reluctantly contorting into many laughable expressions as Grisha moved onto other stomach heaving medicinal components. Ants, beetles, grasshoppers and maggots were amongst the few that he worked with.

Clutching my heaving stomach, I trudged on through these medical mysteries.

It was soon after that I began to work in Grisha's small clinic. We helped bandage injured soldiers en route to the inner walls after coming back from a horrific expedition. We held poultices – soft, moist, masses of material - of freshly grinded yarrow stalks and flowers and soils to their inflamed wounds. Sometimes, after they had been treated, they requested some powder or lotion and Grisha would smile knowingly and give them a small container with a brush. When I asked about it, Grisha informed me that some soldiers didn't want to show these battle scars to their communities, families and preferred to cover it up. It wasn't so much shame than sparking communal fear in the lives of those who didn't, or couldn't fight. I quirked up at that. So _basically_ , some type of homemade makeup?

We treated sore muscles, torn muscles, pulled muscles, stiff muscles, massaged their backs and shoulders to relieve them of their pain. I had seriously underestimated the physiotherapists in my past life. More often than not, I'd come home to Mother and Father wondering why my wrists were clicking and why my fingers were numb. They were worried, but I said that it was alright, and that I was still learning. What they didn't know was that you had to _really_ dig into their muscles and give them a proper massage to alleviate their pain. Grisha corrected my stance and technique in front of these soldiers, much to my embarrassment, but it was a learning experience. These soldiers had the darkest look in their eyes.

They had seen hell, and come out of it alive.

* * *

I didn't really notice until now, but whenever I was at the Yeager's household the basement had always been guarded in one way or another. It was in the small things, calling my name when I was taking suspiciously long in the bathroom, checking in to see I was where I was supposed to be amongst other things that had always prevented me from venturing down into the basement.

I noticed this now, because Grisha wasn't home today. He was late to his appointment with me to make burn salves. Carla was humming in the kitchen, and I could hear a knife clicking against the chopping board, carrots perhaps? I sat unattended in his workshop, cutting into the aloe leaf with a knife, careful to avoid wasting even a drop of the gel, before scraping the slimy stuff into a glass jar. Aloe vera was an odd plant indeed, growing in the driest of conditions, but had so much liquid stored inside.

It was almost deceptive, I mused. Nature's way of creation was fascinating and altogether mesmerising if one set aside enough time to examine it. Without the distraction of cell phones and the instantaneity of communication, one begins to notice the little things, the details, the joys, and the finer things in life.

Nine years was a long time to contemplate… _almost_ too long.

Dropping two drops of sunflower oil in the centre of the gel, exactly like how Grisha made it, I gave the liquefied gel a final mix before emphatically twisting the lid on and grinning. That's another batch done for today.

The mystery of the basement was really drawing me towards it now. The darkened door at the bottom taunted me every time I passed the little hole in the ground today. Grisha wasn't here either. Everything seemed to align, this opportunity made the utmost sense and I knew I had to take this chance.

Tentatively, I pressed my right foot down on the first step. The aged wood _creaked_ in betrayal. I squeaked in surprise and took a step backwards, but I wasn't ready to give up. I prodded my big toe gently around the corners, edges and smooth surfaces of the wooden step, until finally; I was able to quietly shift my entire weight onto my right foot, which was now planted firmly on the first step. He took precautions, evidently. My heart was knocking wildly against my ribcage and my world throbbed as I made my way down.

The second step was much more manageable. Balancing carefully on my right foot, with my right hand gripping the handrail, I scouted the next step systematically, until I was able to confidently place my left foot on the second step and shift my weight accordingly.

"Lily? Lily!" Carla was calling for me. _Why now?!_

I cursed under my breath and took another step down the stairs. Maybe I could pass it off as a joke and say I was hiding in the basement to surprise her afterwards. I was only nine, after all, and I would, without a doubt, use all the childhood pity I could get to uncover Grisha's secrets.

Hearing Carla's footsteps nearing the staircase had me spiralling into a state of panic.

The thread of concentration I held so tightly onto snapped as I tumbled down staircase, crashing into the door at the bottom. For some reason, I had expected it to creak open. In that moment, I had completely forgotten about Eren's key. Groaning, I pushed and pounded against it in exasperation, and to nobody's surprise, it did not budge.

Lying sprawled at the bottom, I inhaled, and exhaled, catching my breath, and listened bitterly to the sweet afternoon birdsong. The ignorant birdsong. I don't think I had broken anything, but a few odd bruises would definitely linger.

Carla came to a stop when she held me captive in her sight, her hands planted firmly into her hips. I stared blankly back at her, and to my surprise, she seemed neither angry nor irritated. She looked terrified. We held each other in our respective visions momentarily, and I was finally coherent enough to formulate a few odd lies. _Sorry I fell_ , would work, except the staircase was far from where I was supposed to be, or _I slipped_ , or _I tripped_ , or silence.

Carla threw her cleaning cloth onto the ground, climbed down the stairs two at a time, wrapped her arm hastily around my bruised waist and hauled me up the stairs, before unceremoniously dumping me at the top of the stairs. I was surprised she had such strength in her. She eyed me suspiciously.

"Didn't you hear me?" Carla turned her back as I pulled myself up into a standing position. I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

"I wanted you to come help me cook." Now I knew that was a blatant lie, she had done nothing more than call for me. Carla's voice wavered as she spoke, and then she picked up her discarded cloth and made her way to the kitchen. I meekly followed behind her and sat down at the dining table, head hung low and shame-faced.

She set the pot onto a cooling rack, before taking a seat opposite me.

"Lily."

I slowly raised my head.

"I know you're curious. Because," she cleared her throat, and continued, "I was too."

Carla didn't need me to feed her lies. Perhaps her heightened motherly perceptions saw more to me than what I chose to reveal to the world. I was sitting so tensely in my seat; I was breaking out in a cold sweat. I clasped my hands together and waited for her to continue. For one, I felt as if all the work I had done in these nine years had been for naught. And secondly, there was nothing more uncomfortable than being told off by another child's mother.

"You have to understand, Lily," Carla leaned over to tilt my chin up so that I was looking her in the eye, "Grisha is a very disturbed man."

I swallowed nervously. Just how much did she know? And how much did she see? My impression of Carla didn't go beyond a vaguely clueless, strict, but loving mother. She never hesitated to berate Eren for his rash decisions and prompt fights, but still chose to cleanse his injuries. Perhaps this profound curiosity and the suspicions she had against her own husband, made her seem a little more human.

After a moment's hesitation, I nodded, and Carla visibly relaxed.

"I don't want to see you near those stairs ever again, and I won't tell Grisha about your little mishap today." And that was the end of that.

Carla slouched in her seat, before casting a sullen look at the ticking clock, grumbling underneath her breath about dinner going cold. She fumed like Mother did; it was no wonder that they were good friends.

"They're late."

I followed her gaze, to find that it was late evening. Mother and Father would be worried if I didn't come home soon. For the past nine years, the Yeager family ate dinner at 7pm, to the minute. It was a promise Grisha had made to Carla early in their marriage to compensate for his busy routine.

Think, think, _think_.

Could it be?

Before I had time to comprehend the possibility of this event happening right now, in this moment, impatient knuckles knocked furiously against the wooden door.

"I'll get it."

I was beside the door, turning the brass handle in an instant. I could hear Eren's voice through the door, but whether he was excited, anxious, or terrified, I couldn't tell.

I threw open the door. I could feel the cool autumn wind nipping my skin.

I heard Carla gasp in surprise before I saw it with my bare eyes. A girl with jet black hair, awfully skinny, wearing a pastel pink dress flowing all the way down to her ankles, spattered with spots of dried _blood_ , with those empty, emotionless eyes, complete with that distinctive, _scarlet_ scarf wrapped around her shoulders.

Holy _shit_.

It was Mikasa Ackerman.

* * *

I didn't have the chance to introduce myself to Mikasa before I was told to go home and take a week's break from my apprenticeship. I scratched the head of my sleepy goats before I entered my home to greet Mother and Father, and braced myself for the imminent barrage of their questions.

They didn't disappoint.

 _A week's break? Did you upset Eren? No, there's a new girl, I said. What? Where from? I don't know, I lied. I'll bring some fruits over for them tomorrow, are you coming? I don't think you should disturb them, I said. What, why? I sighed._

I climbed into bed with my head in the clouds. If Mikasa was in the picture, it meant that the Wall could fall any minute now, but the worst part of it was, I didn't know what to do about it. I felt the colossal burden of my knowledge sit on my shoulders for a moment, before I more or less worried myself to sleep.

The next morning, as I was feeding and collecting eggs from our three hens, I caught a glimpse of Eren and Armin running past my house with Mikasa in tow, eagerly pointing out all of Shiganshina's hotspots. I wasn't bothered by it, Eren – their unofficial leader, and I just didn't seem compatible as friends. He grew to be passionate, fearless and arrogant in all the right _and_ wrong ways. In fact, I felt out of place intruding upon the trio's tight friendship.

The trio walked back past my house in the evening, with Mikasa looking as pristine as she did this morning, wrapped in her red scarf, but Eren and Armin a little scuffed around the edges.

Mikasa had probably just won her first fight with Armin's bullies, I realised in amusement.

Nothing out of the usual happened in my long week of doing nothing, as it finally came to an end. Mother dressed me up more often, saying that I was growing up too quickly, being too independent for a child who was a mere nine years old, and that she wanted to mother me a bit more. She was very much right, and although I had taken to wearing simple plain grey t-shirts because I usually came back from lessons with stains of blood whilst still, _somehow_ , smelling magnificently of herbs, I let her pick out frilly pink dresses with embarrassing bow ties and ribbons hanging off the hem. She tucked a pink headband behind my ears to finish off the look as I smiled nervously into her small mirror.

I found myself back in the Yeager household with a renewed love of medicine the next day, ready to learn. Carla was still washing the plates and bowls from lunch, because I had arrived so early. I walked towards their dining table to tuck the wooden chairs back into their respective places and heard a whisper of a whistle I'd never heard before –

The ground shook violently under my feet and I was thrown into the air from the impact. Then I'm squatting with my arms thrown over my head as the debris and dust smashed into the ground. Where there was previously roof and shingles, there was now clear, blue sky. It would be nice to pause and hear the birdsong but all I hears was a sharp ringing in my ears, so high pitched I had my hands covering my ears and I just wanted it all to _stop_.

I felt cool liquid running down my face and I wondered if the drainage pipes had broken. My heart stops in my throat when I see thick, scarlet blood in my hands.

 _Wall Maria had fallen._

I'm screaming "Carla! Carla?" but I couldn't hear myself.

* * *

A/N: sorry for the re-upload(s) (noticed some grammatical errors), but chapter 3 is up! really want to hear your thoughts on this chapter & happy boxing day & happy reading & hope you follow and favourite!


	4. Chapter 4

4.

 _/you can't blame them for wanting to survive/_

* * *

I clambered out of the rubble, head spinning and ears ringing. The little wooden cottage had lost its structural integrity, and the opening to the damned basement was sealed shut with a large fallen, wooden pillar. My eyes searched for Carla, but she had been caught on the other side of the house.

Her face was scrunched up in pain and she was pushing and pulling at the concrete slab in front of her, trying to haul herself out from under the collapsed beams. Her body bore the brunt of the hit from the stray piece of rock which had crushed their home.

I stripped off my knitted cream coloured jacket and I pressed my hands on her stomach, my face mere millimetres from hers, trying to get into the correct position to apply pressure and staunch her bleeding. We heard screams ricocheting off the walls of the town, bone chilling scream after bone chilling scream.

"The titans are coming!" A man screamed as he hurtled past the Yeager's home.

I knew that. _I knew that._

I was trying to stay calm, but I could feel myself hyperventilating and my hands were shaking so badly and there were tears running down my face because the air smelt sickeningly of metallic _human_ _blood_ but also because I was going to lose her and _oh god_ , history was going to repeat itself. Carla told me to calm down. Carla told me to get help. Carla told me that she would be fine, as long as I was fine.

I'm physically nine, but I'm mentally thirty and I knew that leaving my patient alone was a very, very bad idea. But I gave in eventually, because Carla was fumbling, somehow successfully staunching her own bleeding and said that I was too _young._

I told her to hold on because I was going to get someone ( _who wasn't as cowardly as Hannes_ ) to help.

 _My parents._

I stumbled into my home to find it empty. Cursing under my breath, I ran out into the street, only to find it deserted and stained with death. A little girl's chest had been pierced through by flying debris, and she was wailing, but she was as good as dead, I turned my head and kept running. A man with his back in the dirt road and blood dribbling down my chin grasped at my legs whilst I ran, but I kicked away his frantic grasps because _Carla_. The soles of my shoes were painted red with blood by the time I ran head-first into a Garrison soldier. Time was not on my side.

"There's a woman," I was yelling at him, "You need to help her, she's only three streets away!"

Angry, frustrated tears ran down my face. The same fear I held in my eyes were so very clearly reflected in his eyes. He slung me over his shoulder and ran towards the boats without a single word.

"Hey! Put me DOWN! " I was kicking and screaming at him, biting him even, but he didn't stop running and running, manoeuvring gear clanking uselessly by his side. I felt so pitifully like Eren in that moment. Only when we had arrived at the departure wharfs did he let me down and take off again into the burning city.

 _I'm sorry,_ he seemed to say.

The crowd was suffocating. Some had passed away in the chaos, humans killing humans, crushed by the stampede, dead in minutes by asphyxiation. They lay underneath our feet, their still-warm bodies. I made it onto the boat eventually, weaving through arms and legs until I caught sight of Eren at the front of the crowd.

How did he get there so quickly?

His eyes were wide, and green and haunted. He noticed me staring and turned to throw my bloodied jacket into my chest, and looked me squarely in the eyes. His eyes were no longer wide, green and haunted. His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes showed no light and they were shadowed with anger.

"Thanks for abandoning my mother." He said.

I know what it must have looked like.

I stood speechless, holding my jacket soaked in Carla's sticky blood – the only thing left of her apart from my memories, suddenly self-conscious of my stupid pink costume as he took Mikasa's sleeve and walked past me. I wanted to turn around and scream at him, and tell him that I _only_ wanted to help, and I was trying to _change_ the future – but I didn't, because I couldn't do either of those things without giving myself away.

My nails dug into my palm as I walked onto the boat.

"Lily!"

I turned at the sound of my name.

"Lily! Is that blood on your face?!" Mother brushed at the dried blood flakes on my face. "Thank God you're alive! I was so worried." I noticed the tear tracks on Mother's cheeks. Beside her, Father looked terrified. That look did not sit comfortably on him.

"I knew you'd make it." Father said as his pinched and wrinkled face visible relaxed, as he smoothed out my pink dress.

"Carla is gone." I choked out, lowering my head. Mother held me close, breathing shallow as she took in her new reality. There was an ear-splitting creak of wood, and the boat tore away from the shore. There was an immediate uproar. We watched on as families and civilians arrived in crowds from the other side of Shiganshina, out of breath and puffing.

"Please, please take my baby!"

The Garrison soldiers pressed back against the immense force of the crowd, keeping them away from the edge of the wharf. "Stand back! It's not safe!" They cried.

"The land we're standing on isn't safe!" A man screamed in retaliation.

"I just got here! I'm injured!" A woman screamed, I noticed that she only had a bloody stump of a left leg remaining. "Let me on the boat!"

I closed my eyes momentarily and turned into the protective embrace of Mother and Father, unwillingly to watch the carnage any longer. I heard a splosh of water; someone had jumped. There's another scream and two distinct thumps against the side of the boat, as civilians fought past the guards and threw themselves against the side of the boat. Then there's a heavy weight of a person who had grasped the wooden railings and made it onto the boat.

The screams died down as we sailed away from Shiganshina. We couldn't tear our eyes away from the smoke billowing from the remains of our town, burning away our homes, our lives, our memories. There was minimal chatter on board the boat aside from the quiet murmurs of prayers and the occasional shriek of despair.

The atmosphere was tense and pregnant with fear. It pulled taught and snapped as we watched with wide eyes, hands clapped over our mouths as the gate in Wall Maria shattered into splinters; destroyed by the force of the Armoured Titan. We watched helplessly as our safe place was pillaged, we watched as humanity was driven into the corners of our own land.

* * *

The next two years were hard.

There had always been a food shortage within humanity. Now, as survivors of the fall of Wall Maria, this was both a good thing and a bad thing. Where there was a lack of food, there was an abundance of empty barns, which made for good sleeping areas, especially when there were too many refugees to take in. We were squeezed like sardines up against each other, shivering in the cool winter breeze as we wrapped ourselves in whatever bloodied garments we had left on our being.

But ultimately, food was still scarce. The priority was given to the women, children and elderly, and they were given small portions of bread to survive on, whilst the men fought over the remaining produce – often none.

"…will just make the food shortage worse!" A soldier said.

A resounding thump echoed throughout the small town square where food rations were being handed out as Eren kicked the soldier's shin. Hundreds of pairs of eyes zeroed onto the scene, and we watched with bated breath as Eren argued and fought with the soldiers. This seemed _familiar_. I stood behind Mother, also watching.

"What the hell are you doing, you brat?!" He threw a punch at Eren.

"You don't know what you're talking about! You haven't seen it with your own eyes!" Eren's green eyes were blazing with anger, but softened by his tears. "How the titans eat people!"

Armin jumped in front of the soldier, and diffused the situation before the soldier could punch Eren again.

"You would've been dead without us." The soldier retorted. And that was the end of that.

Mother turned to Father and broke her palm sized loaf in half. "Sweetheart, eat something," she said. "Please."

"You need to eat; I'll be fine without a few days of food." He smiled wearily back at Mother. There was a blaring horn, and Father headed off with all the other hungry men to hack away at the frozen winter soil. Somewhere in the depths of his heart, he knew that nothing would grow, but he went back every single day.

The truth was, Mother was a beautiful woman. She had gently doe eyes, and despite her pregnancy, still maintained a curvaceous and desirable figure. In other words, she would have made a lot of money as a prostitute, but Father didn't allow it. It violated everything he believed in. He stayed true to his moral compass, and I admired that about him immensely.

Unfortunately for me, I didn't adhere much to my own moral compass, and for the first time in my life, I stole. Father had come down with a cold two weeks in, and he was weak from starvation. Some of the men were going to sleep hungry one night, and not waking up the next morning. Garrison soldiers now routinely knocked on the giant doors of our barns to collect dead bodies every morning. They become sick from malnutrition and cold weather and starved to death.

I could start to feel my ribs through my clothes, and my shadowed eye bags only got darker.

But I didn't sleep to alleviate my exhaustion. Instead, I snuck around the city under the moonlight and starlight on an empty stomach that no longer had the strength to growl, stealing a loose stack of tea leaves here, another half-eaten pink lady apple there, leaves of parsley left carelessly on kitchen counters. I returned with my goods in the morning, hidden in my pockets, and ready to sneak into my family's bread and food. I picked locks, scaled small buildings, tore at nutritious plants.

On my third consecutive night of thieving, I caught sight of a shift in darkness; someone snooping under the staircase of an apartment that I was about steal from.

The shadow stopped moving when my eyes sought out the movement.

We stared at each other, enveloped in shadows, seeing nothing but the fearful glint in each other's irises – illuminated by the eerie moonlight. After a few minutes of tense stillness, we realised that we meant each other no harm and slunk off, back into the night.

The next day, Mother was out hacking at the cold, frozen ground as Father lay burning up in the warehouse shed. He was running a dangerously high fever, elevated by cold weather and lack of warm clothing. I heated a mug of cold water over a communal fire and dropped a few precious tea leaves and thin apple slices into it. I fed it to Father - who was nothing less than delirious- when Mother wasn't around – so she wouldn't ask too many questions.

It was a miracle that he had gotten better so quickly. He said that an angel had come to save him, but I wasn't too sure whether that was my shadow conjured up in some hallucination, or if he had actually been on the brink of death. I wasn't sure which option I preferred.

Stealing became an unfortunate habit that I picked up, and kept around.

I stole whenever I could, just barely surviving, trying to curb my piercing hunger for just _one moment_. The moral weight of guilt weighed far less than the fear of being one of those bodies that just didn't wake up in the morning. The cities within Wall Maria ran rampant with crime. It didn't alert authorities until months later, but small signs – the double padlock, the chain locks, the accusatory stare when someone stood a little too close to you, signified the bigger problems at hand.

Eventually, Garrison soldiers were told to stand on guard, lining the previously empty streets - but the people were hungry, and so, thieves continued to pickpocket, civilians continued to murder each other over the smallest injustices. Life within Wall Rose was just as bloody, if not more than, the last days of Shiganshina.

The government finally declared an attempt to retake Wall Maria. Anyone over the age of 18 would be forced to enlist, and anyone found evading the initiative would be publicly murdered. It was bloodshed on the streets as a handful of traumatised survivors screamed and cried about having to face the titans again.

"You didn't come face to face with death." They cried out in protest.

"You didn't see the way they ripped humans apart." They trembled as tears slid down their starved faces.

Despite this, morale remained high as the refugees were equipped with shoddy steel equipment and given blunted steel knives. Many of them were first time horse riders, but were expected to go into battle the very next day. The government amped up the numbers of soldiers even further by giving residing civilians a monetary subsidy.

But we all knew that money couldn't harvest crops from frozen ground.

* * *

"I heard about the government initiative," I said, pulling Mother and Father into a bone crushing hug.

"Ah, you did, didn't you?" Father pulled away and rolled up his sleeves. "Well, someone's got to teach those big, ugly goofs a lesson. And I'm going to crush them all, just you watch, Lily." He grinned his reassuring toothy smile.

Over the past few months, Father had gotten paler. His previously bronze skin looked flaky and withered and for a farmer, it wasn't very fitting for it made him look ill and weak. It was him who suffered the most after leaving Shiganshina. He confided his worries to Mother in hushed whispers before they slept – he wasn't being a responsible father, his family was going to sleep hungry every night, and he hadn't a penny to spare after leaving all their possessions behind. Mother, without fail, wiped away his tears and pulled him close to her chest and told him he was the most amazing father I could have ever had.

And every night, without fail, I listened to their conversations with a heavy heart.

Mother laughed shyly at his bravado and patted my head. "He's getting ahead of himself, but he was moving young calves to the nursery yesterday by hand, you know."

"Just you watch, just, you, watch." His aged eyes crinkled into a light smile.

"I love you guys." I said, despite myself, tightening my grip on Mother's arm. "Please stay safe, please." My voice died down to a whisper.

"She's really growing up isn't she?" Father ruffled my brown locks, and stepped back to admire me.

"We love you too, Lily. We always will. For ever" Mother squeezed me tightly, tears welling up in her eyes. "And ever and ever." She turned away before I could see them fall.

"We'll see you soon, yeah?" Father turned place his straw hat back on his head, and wrapped his arm around Mother's waist.

I watched them walk off the pebbled path, towards the growing crowd of refugees and the shed of equipment, my eyes following their backs until they were so intermingled within the crowd I could no longer tell who was who.

That was the last I ever saw of them.

* * *

A/N: ch4 is up! out of curiousity does anyone listen to attack on titan music when they are writing or doing homework HAHA cos I do! listen to Attack on Titan - eye water; if you are up to it! this song in particular really portrays the mood in this chapter. as always, please leave a review to let me know what i can improve on & fav and follow! until next time and wishing you all a very happy new year!


	5. Chapter 5

5.

 _/induction/_

* * *

It took no longer than a week for the government to announce that the initiative had failed, but despite not being able to reclaim Wall Maria, the food shortage had improved. Compensation was handed out like pamphlets to those who were hurting, and empty pats and hugs passed from one grieving, sleep deprived individual to another.

I tipped the bag of coins onto the barn floor – the result of Mother and Father's sacrifices on the battlefield. I piled the large copper coins to the left, and the smaller silvers to the right, clicking rhythmically against each other.

 _Five, ten, fifteen…_

My heart sank, the weight of their lives were worth a mere total of $86.50. Sure, life insurance didn't exist back then, but even this was a little dehumanizing. It was worth about three weeks of food- four, if I was a little more conservative.

I purchased a beige blouse, and a simple strapped brown dress to wear it under. The rest of the money was kept carefully in a hidden pocket sewn onto the inside of my blouse, in case everything just went to shit (which, not surprisingly, happened quite often in the Shingeki no Kyojin universe).

Of course slaughtering a quarter of a million people would improve the food shortage drastically. But that wasn't the only change. The government wanted normalcy and normalcy right away. People were being shunted left and right into fields that they had only inklings of knowledge about, and if nothing, they were sent back to work the thawing plots of earth. Doors were opened to orphaned children up to the age of 8. The age to attend military training decreased from 15 to 12. Structure to society was being recovered at an obnoxiously rapid pace, but the people were still hurting inside.

Unsurprisingly, I was sent into healthcare.

Though, I have to admit, I never expected to be sent to the pregnancy ward. Pregnancy rates were on the rise after the area inside Wall Rose was declared safe, nurses and pregnancy midwifes alike were in high demand across town.

"UP, UP, UP!" Rina roared. Rina was our head midwife. She managed the nurses in the pregnancy ward in the southern part of town. We were located in the middle of town, easily accessible and far away from the civilians turning and shifting the earth for crops. I hadn't seen Eren in a long time now. Rina was a sizeably large woman, sporting a head of dirty black frizz contained just barely in a thin rat-tail like plait. In the 24 hours since I'd been admitted into the ward, I'd never once see her smile; her face had been set permanently into that of an annoyed scowl.

I rubbed my eyes blearily and squinted miserably at the ceiling. The crackling torch cast eerie dancing shadows across the walls. Babies had no respect for time in the day. They announced their entrance into the world at all times, whether it be the wee hours in the morning or during a mid afternoon slump. They demanded attention and cried. Typically, they were baby-sized miracles and blessings to mankind, and represented life. But in a world caged by walls and threatened by human thirsting monsters? I wasn't so sure.

"I said, get _UP_! It's morning!" Rina's voice was dangerously close to my ears as she walked around the dorm, stripping the blankets off the still sleeping nurses as they curled around their pillow, trying to sneak in a few more seconds of sleep.

Instantly, I sat up, dazedly waiting for the rest of my brain as it tried to catch up with my sudden movement. I peered outside the window, feeling my brain slowly clear itself of the sleepy fog. It was dark out, the stars still twinkling in the sky, and moon uncovered by the shifting grey clouds.

"You've been rostered roles, now go! It's a new day!"

There was a brief grumble, before Rina silenced them and the nurses got to work. I ran my hands throughout my messy hair, slipped on my shoes, and made a start towards the schedule stuck up on the plaster walls.

"Oh, no, _no_ , newbie, where are you going?" Rina made a grab for my shoulder. "You're coming with me."

Rina handed me a torch, topped with combustible material, and led me towards the backroom. A trapdoor lay hidden underneath the mat. Though, it wasn't concealed in a way such that it was _meant_ to be hidden, it just seemed like a layer of protection. Like how one would organise needles in an enclosed sewing box.

"This way." She bent her slightly humped back, lifted the brass handle of the trapdoor and stepped into the dark, ominous hole in the ground.

I tentatively pressed my right foot onto the step she was standing on and followed her down, keeping close. The design reminded me of the entrance to Grisha's basement, quite standard. I shivered, rubbing my arm for some warmth, suddenly aware of the sharp temperature difference between upper and lower ground.

We walked down for some time, the stairs twisted and broken in some places, but nevertheless still sturdy. Rina stopped, putting her torch in a metal ring holder, allowing the torch to cast its light throughout the large underground warehouse.

"Wow," I gasped, voice echoing coolly, bouncing vacantly off the uneven surfaces. "This is really impressive." I squinted at the rows upon rows of baskets and glass jars. Was that equipment set up for experimentation? It looked like an early version of a distillation setup, complete with a condenser, strung together with metal clips. Quite, advanced, I noted.

Though, I had heard that the closer you lived to the King, the better equipment you had access to. A small town like Shiganshina, or one of the villages that Sasha and Connie had lived in, would have had no chance of having the education to operate them.

"Is this eucalyptus?" I brought the torch closer to the basket to have a look at the shape of the leaf. I plucked a leaf off the branch, crushed it between my thumb and index finger and inhaled. Definitely eucalyptus.

"Careful with your torch." Rina warned.

"And this?" I eyed the dark grey flowers, "Dried lavender?" I held the wilting flower closer to my eyes and brought the flame closer.

"I said, _careful_ , with your torch!" Rina raised her voice, grabbing my torch from my hands and depositing it in another metal ring holder nearby. "It definitely won't be the first time a laboratory like this has been burnt down to the ground – I mean, underground- because of some careless punk."

She sighed and brushed her hands off the back of her pants.

"Sorry."

"Look, you're not terrible. Clearly handled some stuff like this before." She tossed me a plastic poncho like lab coat and goggles that looked eerily similar to the ones Hanji wore. I caught them with both hands.

"I've had nurses lie about what they can do on their applications." She fastened her goggles to her head in one tight, fluid knot and ran her hands in a pitiful attempt to smooth her gravity defying hair down behind the goggle straps. She failed spectacularly.

"But you can put what you know on the back burner for now. Cos you're about to learn how to knock people out." She continued.

 _Anesthesia?_ I thought.

Rina carefully picked up the stem of a red flower I had never seen before. She seemed to be holding the flower at an arms' length away from her. Peering at it, I noticed the flower had a worrying black ring within the blood red colour of the petals. Everything about it screamed danger.

"You ready?"

* * *

I spent an equal amount of time upstairs and downstairs.

Downstairs, I familiarised myself with deadly flowers, the notorious dogbane and nightshade. I had my mask on at all times, increasing and decreasing its concentration depending on its use. One whiff could render you unconscious. I tinkered with the distillation tube and physically tipped water into the condenser to cool down the vapours.

Upstairs, I touched up on my first aid skills. Mothers bled and choked up in pain and fear, and I was there, along with the other nurses to ease their discomforts. We administered pain relief and gave them back massages in hot wooden baths. We worked hard as a team, helping expectant mothers deliver their babies, but the sporadic deaths still caught us off guard. The risk of infection was just too high; our sedatives were just too strong, or not strong enough.

But today, I spent my time watching my first c-section surgery with Rina, or that's what they called it in my world. She was a miracle worker in the field of surgery, where her sharp, beady eyes and experienced fingers stitched together the small wonders of a new life.

She scrubbed her hands vigorously with soap and hot water, but that was about all this world could offer. No sterilization, no antibiotics, no epidurals. Scissors were dipped into hot water, and the thread was kept clean.

"Can I do one?" I hesitantly asked from the side.

"Here." Rina passed me the needle without as much as a glance.

"Loop it up through here," She instructed me, "And around." She watched my movements with agonizing detail, taking in every strain of my clumsy fingers. "Now pull."

I pulled the knot through.

"Tighter."

I pulled it a little tighter.

Rina sighed and took the needle from my hands, and gave the knot a measured, but strong tug.

"Not bad for a first try."

"Thanks." I replied, meekly stepping back to the side of the bed.

Four hours into the surgery, Rina had cut the baby successfully out of the mother's womb and sewed it back together. I wrapped the baby in a warm, fluffy towel and cradled it, patting its back. Soon enough, it started to wail, its cries rocking the walls of the small surgical room. _Good_ , I thought, it was breathing.

I placed it gently in the round curve of the measuring scales. 3.2 kilograms. _Normal_. I noted.

"And now," Rina wiped the sweat beaded on her forehead, "We wait for her to wake up." Rina gestured towards the mother, before turning to the sink to rinse her bloodied hands.

"For how long?" I asked, slowly rocking the baby in my arms.

"Who knows?"

I raised a brow at her comment.

"That's the problem with sedatives." Rina shook her hands, water droplets spilling onto the floor. "I'd give her at least another hour, but really, I haven't done enough trial runs to be sure. At least it's better than what we used to do."

I really did not want to know what they used to do.

I turned my eyes back down to the baby in my arms. Another life, another future, another hope. I wondered what this little baby boy would get up to in this world. Its eyes were mere slits, peering into the great unknown. I watched him grab lightly at the towel, absolutely mesmerised. This was how I had entered the world, and it was the first time I had seen another being born in this moment of exquisite pain and relief. I wonder if-

"Elizabeth!" Rina snapped me out of my daze. "Bed 9 needs assistance."

"Oh!" I looked around frantically, placing the baby softly into the arms of a nurse which had just scrubbed into the surgical room. "I got it!" I said, and started to rush over.

"No, you haven't." Rina retorted from behind me. "I'm coming with you."

 _Ah, that made much more sense._

* * *

"Rina," I stepped into her small office. "I'm turning 12 today –"

"Happy birthday, Elizabeth." She interrupted. "If you're looking for a pay rise –"

"I'm turning 12 today, and," I swallowed. Rina looked as impassive as ever. "So, I was thinking of resigning from the pregnancy ward and I just wanted to say thank you for being so patient with me and for teaching me so much about–" I was rambling and I knew it. Three sentences in and I had already more or less forgotten the speech I had written the night before.

Rina pulled out a piece of paper from her wooden drawer. "Here." She folded it in half and handed it to me, along with a small satchel of coins. _Last pay check_. "The best medics are forged from being thrown into the pits of hell." She paused as if unsure whether or not to continue. "The military will be lucky to have you, so just do what you do best, practice medicine and give the titans hell."

I was at a loss for words. "How did you know?" I asked.

"Here!" She deadpanned, uncomfortable with the drawn out display of gratitude. "On your application from a year ago, under this box," Rina pointed at my neat handwriting, which had deteriorated much since then.

"Will there be anything stopping you from working the full contract of three years, and," Rina read aloud, tracing my words with her brown, cracked fingertips, "You wrote that you would be enlisting."

"Oh, right." I nodded and lowered my eyes to the ground. "Right."

"Thank you, Rina." I smiled. "Oh and," I handed her the bottle of wine I had purchased from a street vendor, tied superfluously with a giant red ribbon, "This is for you."

Her eyebrows shot up, I wasn't sure whether from shock or gratitude, and wait, did she even drink?

"No, thank you." She said, taking my gift into her hands.

 _Was that a hint of a smile I saw?_

* * *

"We now begin the Enlistment Ceremony for the 104th Trainee Corps!"

I stood upright, shoulders squared and combat boots planted into the dirt. I held both of my hands loosely to the small of my back. The speech was familiar to me, I remembered it being significant, because as much as it was demoralising, it was also inspirational. With a slight frown, my eyes combed the backs of rows and rows of cadets standing before Keith Shadis. How many would be left after the brutal training? How many would be left after the Battle of Trost?

In more ways than one, I was still at square one. Nothing much had changed, besides the upgrading of my medical skills and possibly accidentally upsetting Eren a little more than necessary. Things weren't exactly moving along at the pace at which I wanted, but perhaps, my grandiose idea of saving lives, preventing catastrophes and creating change was a little too much. Staying alive was hard enough. Reduce goal to saving the main cast? Reduce goal to protect Commander Erwin from getting his arm bitten off? Reduce goal to trigger Eren's transformation into a titan earlier? Reduce goal to revealing myself and my secrets and not be thrown into a mental asylum, in that order?

I didn't know.

If Eren hadn't transformed in that moment in the battle of Trost, and if Armin hadn't come up with the idea of blocking the gate with the huge boulder, Eren may not have had Dot Pixis on his side, rallying the people for the support of a monster within a human. If Eren hadn't transformed in that moment, it may have cost him his life.

There were too many events that triggered others as well. If one didn't happen, I doubted another would have. If Eren's mother hadn't been eaten alive in front of him, would he have possessed the mental anguish and thoughts of hatred, so deeply rooted in him, to fight for his freedom and revenge? If Annie hadn't appeared as the female titan and slaughtered the majority of survey corps soldiers on the 57th Expedition outside the Walls, would Armin have had enough evidence to deduce that she, along with Reiner and Bertholdt were titan shifters?

But if I just came out and said it? With little to no evidence to back up my claims?

There were too many, "if, so" situations that stopped me from running rampant in this timeline. Another issue had recently come to mind, the fact that I had only watched the anime up until the end of Season 2. I had half-heartedly watched the last two episodes of Season 3 when I was 21, a little too old to _really_ enjoy the show. Historia became Queen, something about a purple, liquid filled syringe, was all that I really remembered. I shook my head, irritated with my dissipating memories. Which begged the question, what happened afterwards? Even if I followed canon, it still lead to an inconclusive end.

 _Do what you do best._ Rina's advice echoed.

The truth was, the only person I could really change was myself. I had to believe in myself, and the skills I had acquired, and believe that what I was doing was right. I had to believe in the humanity I still possessed.

"I am Keith Shadis, and I had the misfortune to be assigned to train you bastards. I'm not here to welcome you at all! Right now, you're nothing but titan food! No, less than cattle!"

I spotted Mikasa right away; she was one of the few cadets with jet black hair. She stood tall next to Eren. Ah, of course she would be standing right next to him - meaning that Armin wouldn't be too far away either. They had grown significantly in the two long years I hadn't seen them. They were a good head taller, and their hands showed clear signs of wear and tear, probably from the time they had spent on the farm.

"In three years, we'll take you worthless pieces of crap and train you! Give you the means to fight the titans."

I turned my head to the right. Was that Marco standing next to Jean? His face was a little rounder than I remembered it to be, but he still looked ever so kind with his goofy, freckled smile. He was taller and lankier than the other cadets but he still managed to sport the angular uniform proudly; I think the word for it was _dorky_.

"In three Years, when you stand before a titan, will you still be food? Or will you be a noble wall, shielding the King? Or perhaps, one of humanity's glorious soldiers that slay titans? You will decide!"

But not as tall as Bertholdt. He was standing even further right, next to a bulky looking Reiner. He was easily over 165cm, which was awfully tall for a 12 or 13 year old. Of course he was, he was the Colossal Titan after all. I couldn't figure out how they could look so determined and not at all remorseful after murdering thousands of innocent civilians.

"YOU!" Commander Shadis barked. I snapped my head forward to look at Commander Shadis.

"Yes, sir!" I brought my right fist to my chest in a tight salute and squinted up at him.

"Pay attention!" He blocked the rays of the sun with his tall figure, weathered eyes shadowed with condescending fury. "Brown haired piece of shit!"

From the corner of my eye, I spotted Sasha intensely take a large bite out of her boiled potato. The mashed crumbs stuck around her lips and fell onto her military jacket. With an absent minded swipe, she brought the crumbs back to her mouth and licked it off her fingers.

The corners of my lips involuntarily quirked up at the sight.

"Oi, oi, _oi_ , cadet! The hell are you smiling at?!" Shadis's voice grew low and menacing as he bent down, his eyes mere inches from mine. He looked terrifying, whether he was 100 yards away, or, well, 2 centimetres away from my nose.

He eventually followed my gaze and turned to see Sasha staring intently at the stadium, potato in hand, steam still emanating from it. A slight breeze brought the wafting smell of boiled potato to my nose. All the cadets had more or less turned around to witness the spectacle, jaw dropped. Only Sasha herself seemed oblivious to their stares.

"Hey. Fucker."

Sasha's eyes darted from left to right, before she audibly gulped and went in to take _another_ bite.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?!"

.

.

.

 _Things were looking up._

* * *

A/N: chapter 5 is up! this chapter was truly a nightmare to write, i probably spent more time on this than the past four chapters combined. please review! i'd love to hear your thoughts. also a shoutout to my guest reviewer whirl! honestly such a thought provoking review :)

another question, i've been thinking of changing the summary for my story to "The rippling effect of reincarnation is undeniable. Fortunately for Elizabeth, her greatest strength lies within her foresight and her fascination with medicine. Lives will be transformed and saved and lost, but unfortunately, fate is a cruel mistress." thoughts?

until next time!


	6. Chapter 6

6.

 _/first and last greetings/_

* * *

I peered down at my brown gruel, unable to tell the difference between vegetable and meat, much less able to tell what type of meat it was. Everything in my rusted metal bowl was a sickening shade of beige. I scooped up a morsel with my spoon and chewed on it; it tasted vaguely like salted oatmeal. I felt my face contort instinctively.

I had a go at the bread instead. It was rock hard, and had a faint sheen of green to it, but at least it didn't smell half as bad as the porridge. The water in my cup was murky.

I sighed. I didn't have the luxury to be picky either.

I put down my fork and spoon and turned to observe the dining room. I was one of the first cadets to have arrived, not willing to wait too long with Commander Shadis. Everyone else was either changing into comfortable evening wear or making their way here. The dining room was exactly how I had remembered it. Shaved wooden logs were melded to metal pipes and stood upright. That made up our tables. Each one was a little unique, a little wonky, but it served its purpose well. Such was life in the Shingeki no Kyojin era.

The tables were lined up against each other, tightly, but with room to walk. There was a counter, at the back of the room which acted as a window to the kitchen, where select cadets would cook for dinner. The roster rotated so that every cadet eventually had to cook. The training corps didn't have enough money to hire a chef, after all. Tonight, three cadets were on the roster.

"Hey." A cadet sat down beside me and extended his hand. "Name?"

I turned my head, offering a half smile, and shook his hand. He didn't have any striking features, just an awfully full head of brown hair, complete with a little bit of a sideburn. He had a strong nose to match. He wore a turtleneck shirt underneath his vest. Most importantly, I had never seen him before. "Lily." I responded. "And you?"

"I'm Angus." He nodded at me and turned around to gesture behind him. "Oh, and this is Felicity, my twin. Is it alright if we sit with you?"

I nodded and eyed Felicity. They were truly twins. I could see the efforts she took in trying to contain her mop of brown hair in a messy bun. I had never seen her before either. "Of course."

"We're going to be training together for three years, may as well make the ride worth it." Angus said.

I raised a brow, and watched as Felicity took a seat opposite me, and plonked her food tray down. She frowned when her porridge didn't wobble upon impact.

"I mean, like, friends, make some friends?" Angus fumbled.

Ah, yes. Friends. I was a bit more willing to befriend some of the more notable cadets in the series. Sasha, Connie, Jean. That lot. Would anything good, or bad, come out of befriending some of the characters in the background? Despite not wanting to become too close to these strangers, I didn't exactly want to end up portraying a personality that mimicked Annies. The mere thought of Annie, alone, untrustworthy and bitter, helped make up my mind.

"So where are you two from?" I asked, bringing another small spoonful of the gruel to my lips.

"Krolva." Felicity chimed in. She looked at my momentarily puzzled face and laughed. "Don't worry, not many know about us. We're located on the west most side of Wall Rose. Lots of land, but small population, you know?"

"I've seen it." I smiled, finally remembering. "My father used to keep maps of the world on his shelf."

"She knows about us!" Felicity fervently whispered to Angus. "So cool!"

I couldn't help laughing at her cheeky comment. There was something so pure about the joy flitting across her face despite imminent demise in the next five years. And maybe something that my old soul so genuinely missed in her childlike demeanor.

"Krolva?" A new voice floated overhead. I turned my head.

Freckles. Bright eyes. Tray of food in hand. Still tall. But comfortingly so. He had always seemed too stilted in the cadet uniform, as if he could never really grow into it. Marco looked much more himself in his woollen knitted vest and trousers.

"I'm from Jinae. Not too far from Krolva." Marco smiled and stopped beside the table. "Mind if I take a seat?"

I vaguely gestured at the empty seat beside me. He sat down gently beside me. A measured and controlled person, I noted.

"It's amazing how military training can bring us all together." Marco commented, and then blinked, a little flustered. "Ah, how could I forget, I'm Marco Bodt. Pleased to meet you all."

"Angus." Angus said, then pointed around the table. "That's Felicity, and Lily."

I looked around the crowding dining hall, catching bits and pieces of conversation. The chattering bounced off the walls as the cadets started to get to know each other. The candlelight grew brighter and the shadows grew darker.

I watched Mikasa and Armin sitting on Eren's table, eyes dully reliving that fateful day as Eren began to tell his story. I sometimes wondered why they were friends. Sure, they were a tight and iconic trio, but more often than not, they seemed dysfunctional. The way I saw it, their relationship consisted of a one sided relationship between Mikasa and Eren, and between Eren and Armin, it morphed into some nauseating form of pity. It was hard to ignore that Armin was a liability on the battlefield. And the relationship between Mikasa and Armin, you ask? Non-existent.

I watched as the crowds waxed and waned about Eren as the cadets listened to him in morbid fascination. It was only moments later when the dining hall had completely quietened down, latching onto every single word he said.

"You mentioned you were from Shiganshina?" A cadet gasped.

"Mm. I was there." Eren nodded.

"Then, then, the titans!" One exclaimed. "You must've seen them! Just how large was the Colossal titan?"

"He could effortlessly peer over the wall." Eren responded, eyes wide, but spoon dangling languidly in his hand. Eren did seem like the type to relish all this attention. "He had his fingertips over the wall."

"I told you so." Another cadet lightly pushed the one who had asked the question.

"No titan is that big!"

"This one was." Eren said.

"Hey," Marco leaned across to me, whispering, "Where did you say you were from again?"

I blinked and turned to Marco. "Oh. Shiganshina."

Marco's jaw dropped and he lightly pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seriously? Then you know Eren, and Mikasa?" He forgot Armin.

"Of sorts." I replied. "We were childhood friends." _I had known of them years before that._

"And the titans?" Marco asked hesitantly.

I smiled reassuredly back at Marco. "I was fortunate, I didn't run into any." I rested my elbows on the wooden tables, my head on my hands. "But, I did see the Armoured titan. Ramming through the gate."

"Well," Marco faltered. "I'm glad you're okay." He rubbed my shoulder awkwardly and smiled a sad smile, before leaving to join the crowd which had gathered around Eren. I overlooked the commotion about Eren.

"How about the Armoured titan?" A girl chimed in to ask Eren. I saw Reiner shift ever so slightly in his seat, listening in to the conversation. Annie looked a little more alert than usual too.

"It looked like a regular titan to me." Eren spoke, a false air of bravado about him. It was a little sickening watching history replay itself word for word, and a little sickening to watch the bright-eyed crowd drawn to Eren. Little did they know, they would be asked, no, not even – commanded, to lay down their lives for this boy in the future. Their injured bodies may never be found again.

I shovelled the remaining porridge and dried bread into my mouth, swallowing without chewing, and washed it down with the water. Nutrition I needed, but the taste? Not so much. I stood up and backed away from the crowd, disposing of my plates and cups into the giant water filled bin outside of the kitchen.

I breathed in the refreshing evening air. The cadets who had finished their food earlier were loitering about in semi darkness as the sun dipped underneath the horizon, leaving shadows of pink and orange in the sky. The training grounds were located far from the nearest village, in a little dip, an old and abandoned open-cut coal mine. It was a rather safe place to be, because as all civilian combatants know, it's better to be on low ground than in clear sight of your enemies. That wasn't really the case with titans though.

Patting smooth my crinkled brown dress and tidying the collar of my beige blouse, I made my way to one of the small cottages which Commander Shadis had introduced as some sort of a break room. I sure as hell didn't hear about it in the anime, so I was curious to see what it was. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. People get bored easily, and even more so when you're a 12 year old teenager. A little entertainment and banter could go a long way.

The wind picked up lightly, twirling dust past my ankles. My brown hair brushed past my cheeks lightly, cascading past my shoulders, stopping just past my breasts. It was too long for combat standards, but if I tied it up, it shouldn't be a problem. I had grown it out in the last two busy years. And I always had long hair, always liked it, even in my past life; I wouldn't really feel like me without it.

Stopping on the way to the break room, I took in the sight of Sasha stumbling across the training grounds, not daring to stop. Her ponytail had come loose within her elastic band, bouncing enthusiastically with each step she took. She had bags under her eyes and she panted as she forced herself to keep running. She was barely swinging her arms anymore, they just sort of moved along with her strides like loose boiled ramen noodles.

Upon second thought, I didn't think she was even running either, just sort of walking-bouncing.

* * *

The break room was underwhelming, to say the least.

There were a couple of grey beanbags in the corner, and they had not always been grey. There was an untouched board of chess set up in one corner, a deck of shuffled cards beside it, and a pool table in the centre. Somehow, it was still a relatively popular place to hang out. Cadets hustled and bustled in and out of the single room. It was a bit of a social hotspot. There were a couple of cadets comforting a crying girl in the corner, and another few playing pool in teams.

"Yer play?" A voice asked, gruffly.

"Play what?" I asked, a little stunned that he had crept up to me like that. A stranger.

"Chess."

"I know the rules." I answered, a bit defensively. Man, two lives later and meeting new people just never got any easier. I took in the sight of the 8 by 8 board. I do remember some characters playing chess in the anime, but my village seemed too poor to afford anything like this. It was an interior luxury. I traced the edge of the board with my outstretched finger. It was made out of wood.

"Yer did look like yer had half a brain." He grinned.

We sat up opposite each other, his arms folded, mine resting on my lap. I scanned the board briefly to check that none of the pieces were out of place.

"Name's Mark." He said, reaching over to shake my hand. "You?"

I shook it. "Lily."

"Well, ladies first."

I moved a white pawn two places forward almost immediately. My playing style was indolent and unenergetic in the beginning, only really picking up when I felt myself losing, letting adrenaline take over. Mark moved his black pawn two places forward as well.

I advanced another white pawn, slouching ever so slightly in my chair. The game was moving very quickly.

Mark moved his black bishop out into the open board, stopping three tiles away from my first pawn. Mark was sort of a small person, standing just a mere centimetre or two taller than me. And I was not tall for my age. He had strong arms, beady resolute eyes and thinning blonde hair. I wouldn't be surprised if he told me later on that he wanted to join the Survey Corps.

Bertholdt had come up behind me as I thought briefly about my next move, watching the game with his hand resting casually on the back of my chair.

I advanced yet another white pawn.

Mark moved his bishop such that it was targeting both my rook and my king.

"Check."

 _What? That was quick._

I huffed in slight frustration, pausing momentarily before realising, and moved my knight in an L shape, taking his bishop away from the board.

"Huh? Yer can't do that!" Mark said.

"Yeah, I can!" I retaliated. "That's how knights move."

"The knight moves in a much larger L shape than that! It takes this path-" Mark took my knight and demonstrated, "So 2 spaces in any direction, and then another three in another direction, and stops there."

"Really?" I asked, still apprehensive and quite sure of myself. "It's one space in any direction, and then another two."

"He's right, you know." Bertholdt said quietly.

Mark shrugged his shoulders and pressed his lips together in a bit of an inpatient frown. I sighed, not wanting to stand out too much on my first day here.

"Fine. We'll do it your way." I said, moving his bishop back onto the board, and my knight back to its starting position.

I moved my king one step forward, out of the check.

Mark took my rook. That wasn't good at all; the rook played a vital role, especially near the end of a game.

I looked at the bishop sitting dangerously close to the rest of my pieces. It couldn't do much else in this position though. I looked over at my other pieces. Not much was happening with my other pieces. I tilted my head to look at his pieces. Mark had a black pawn three spaces in front of his black king, and another black pawn two spaces in front of his black queen. If I forced him into a check with my bishop, and then blocked his escape with a queen, I could get checkmate in two moves.

I moved the bishop.

"Check."

Mark moved his King forward by two steps.

"Mark! That's against the rules." I groaned in frustration. "The King can only move one space at a time!"

"No, it ain't." He complained. "Jeez, you said you _knew_ the rules!"

"I do too!" I argued.

"Look, I don't know who on earth taught yer yer 'rules'." Mark huffed, bending his index and middle fingers forward, creating bunny ears at the mention of rules. "But it's jus' plain wrong!"

I looked plaintively at Bertholdt for some support. He tensed his shoulders and lifted his arms up in a slight surrendering stance, then looking away sheepishly.

Mark sighed and grabbed my King.

"Who's the current King of the walls?" Mark asked.

"What? How's that relevant?" I asked back.

"Just answer my question."

"Fine. King Fritz." I answered.

"So that means he has power right?" Mark asked, somewhat rhetorically. "When a King is in power, the King in chess will be able to move in any direction, and it can take however many steps it wants to. And when a King is in power, the Queen in chess can only move one step at a time."

"And if a Queen is in power?" I asked.

"Well, take yer guess." Mark's beady blue eyes crinkled a little.

"The Queen chess piece can move in any direction, and take however many steps it wants." I answered my own question. "But for the game to end, don't we always need to have the King in a checkmate? Then what's the point of having a Queen?" I asked. That was a little confusing. Did the King just protect itself? If the King in chess was that overpowered, and the King _also_ had to be locked into a checkmate, then the game would never end.

"Um," Mark trailed off. "Yes? I never really got that part." He said dismissively. "My mum n' my dad told me they jus' kept it as the King cos' people got too confused."

" _My_ parents told me that if the King is in power and could move about however it wished in chess, then the game only ends when the Queen is in checkmate." A new voice chimed in. "Gotta protect your Queen." I could _feel_ a wink.

I turned to look at who it was. Blonde, sideburns, a little… plain looking. Thomas Wagner, part of Eren's team, dead after the battle of Trost. I never pegged him to be a huge flirt though.

"Thomas." He smiled, giving a small wave. "Lovely to meet you all."

"Aight, aight, because of King Fritz, the Queen has to be in checkmate for the game to end, not the King." Mark reluctantly agreed, settling their little debate and finally answering my question.

Wow. So the rules changed whenever a new leader was elected into political power. If a King was in power, they were also strong in the game of chess, protecting the Queen. If a Queen was in power, they were also strong in the game of chess, protecting the Queen. I suspected that the differing opinion between Thomas and Mark was simply because of the way rules and regulations were passed down in this world – by word of mouth, stories. And when stories are told, storytellers unwittingly change up small details, swapping them in and out until the story has changed beyond recognition. But chess reflecting real world politics? _Cool._

"Bertholdt, what do you think?" I asked.

"I don't play chess. I like spectating." He replied, eyes downcast.

"Oh and there's a nice story behind the knight as well." Mark butted in. "Our horses are specially bred to endure running long distances, they're strong, and have pleasant temperaments. Well, as pleasant as a horse can get."

"Mhm," I nodded.

"Most of our horses are sold to the Survey Corps, and they're used for advancing beyond the walls. So," Mark smiled. "If horses are so amazing in real life, then surely they can make leaps and bounds in the game of chess too, right?"

"Righht." I said, my eyes as wide as saucers. So, so fascinating. I had just gained a whole new perspective on chess.

A loud banging on the wooden doors startled us out of our conversation.

"BEDTIME! Bedtime! Get your asses all to your dorms!" Commander Shadis roared. "5am wakeup call tomorrow!"

We jolted into action at the sound of Shadis's voice, quickly placing all the chess pieces back into their respective starting positions before scrambling out of the break room, towards our sleeping dormitories. We exchanged our goodnights and sleeptights before dissipating. I could feel my drowsiness creeping up to me, now that the day was drawing to an end.

"How'd you know my name?" Bertholdt asked, sidling up to me as he walked towards his dorm.

"I…" I blanked, slowing down my pace.

"I never introduced myself." He said, disconcertingly quiet.

"I heard Reiner mention it." I lied.

"Oh, so you've met Reiner." Bertholdt stopped and smiled lightly. "And my dorm's just here. Goodnight!"

"Night." I murmured reflexively, eyes wide, suddenly awake, _chills_ creeping down my back.

* * *

A/N: chapter 6 is up! let's hope that Lily is a good enough liar! i just wanted to say a huge thank you for all your support, and for all the reviews that you guys have left on this story! i'm going to try my best to get back to all of them.

as usual, please review, i'd love to hear your thoughts on the dialogue i've written. i hope that the whole chess piece representation of the SnK world made sense, especially the discussion between Thomas and Mark, where i tried to show that information being handed down wasn't very reliable...also, thoughts on everyones characterisations? i always perceived bertholdt to be really shy haha.

until next time!


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